


Coulson Gets Lucky

by desert_neon (sproutgirl)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Animal Shelter AU, First Meetings, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mishmash of Hawkeye Comics and MCU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-06 11:22:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5414927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sproutgirl/pseuds/desert_neon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint has been caring for  the dog that saved his life, but between SHIELD missions and Avenging, he's gone far too often. He makes what feels like the hardest decision of his life to give Lucky up, but it just might end up being the best move he ever made.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coulson Gets Lucky

**Author's Note:**

> Feelstide 2015 Prompt #72:
> 
> Animal shelter meet-cute! The guys are either both adopting a pet or both dropping off a stray (ooh or maybe one is dropping off a stray and the other is adopting a pet), and they're attracted to each other and maybe flirt a little but they don't get each other's info. Alas, they figure they'll never see that cute guy again. But then the shelter has a holiday fundraiser dinner or something and they're reunited and get together.
> 
> Alas, I did not do exactly that? I'm so sorry. It has the beginning, but not the end request. I'm sorry, prompter! I hope you like it anyway.
> 
> This fic exists in a world that is partly MCU, partly Fraction's Hawkeye run, and partly neither. Just roll with it. :)

“I need to put this dog up for adoption.”

“Is he yours?”

“No . . . Well, yeah, maybe. Kinda?” Clint did his very best to ignore the way Lucky was looking up at him. Anyway, he was imagining the expression of betrayal on the dog’s face. Right? “Yes. Let’s just go with yes. But my job . . . I travel a lot. Can’t really keep him.”

“Okay. We’ll be happy to take him, but I should tell you, he might not get adopted in time.”

“Why not?” Clint asked, affronted. Lucky was sweet, smart, and super loyal. More loyal than Clint, apparently. Lucky would probably never leave _Clint_ at a shelter.

“I’m sorry to say it, but dogs with medical problems or lasting injuries don’t often get rehomed. People want the cute ones, not . . .” She waved, vaguely gesturing to Lucky’s missing eye.

“He’s cute,” Clint argued, ignoring the sound of the door opening and footsteps behind him. “It’s not his fault he’s had a rough go of it.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I don’t know what to tell you. We’ll take him, of course, but he’d be better off if you could keep him until you find someone. When’s your next trip?”

“Pretty much now,” Clint said miserably.

“I’ll take him.”

Clint whirled around to face the newcomer and possible savior. He was an older guy, probably about fifty, with receding brown hair, kind eyes, and the bottom part of his left sleeve folded over and pinned up. “What?”

The guy smiled. “I’ll take him, if you’ll let me.” He stepped towards Lucky and crouched down, running his hand over Lucky’s ears and scruff. “I came to adopt, so why not this one? You don’t throw a whole life away just ‘cause he’s banged up a little.”

Clint stared for a moment, knowing that phrase, but unable to place it. Then he grinned. “Did you seriously just quote _Seabiscuit_ at me?”

The guy laughed and Lucky flopped over for belly rubs, which were promptly given. “Well, not _at_ you, so much, but yeah. It’s a theme that has struck home, recently. So, what do you say? Shall we set up a private adoption?”

Clint narrowed his eyes as the guy stood up. Lucky, who maybe wasn’t so loyal after all, followed, pressing his nose to the guy’s hand until it started scratching his head again. “I don’t even know you. And you don’t know anything about Lucky. What if he’s really sick?”

“Then I’ll pay for his treatment,” the guy said reasonably. He stopped petting Clint’s dog long enough to offer his hand. “I’m Phil Coulson. I make enough money as a private consultant to pay for whatever medications or procedures Lucky needs. I just recently lost my hand and my previous job, which means now I get to settle down and work mostly from home. My lifestyle didn’t support pets or even significant others before, and now I find I’m rather lonely rattling around my apartment. And I kind of suck at picking up guys, so, here I am, offering to take your dog.”

Clint laughed a little and, belatedly, shook the guy’s hand. “Clint. Barton. And, uh, thanks, I guess?” Except, now that it was time, Clint really didn’t want to hand over the leash.

“Guys, this is great,” the girl at the desk said, “seriously. The best possible solution. But we’re not allowed to not go through the system, so maybe you could arrange everything outside? So I can keep my job?”

“Of course,” Coulson said, and gestured for Clint and Lucky to lead the way. He even held the door for them. Then he knelt again, out of the way of any pedestrians, and scratched under Lucky’s chin. Lucky, the traitor, lapped it up.

Clint’s phone pinged at him, and he read the message with a sigh. “So, uh. I guess you could take him now.”

Coulson looked up at him, but didn’t stand. “Anything I should know?”

“Not really. He’s not actually sick. The guy who used to own him was a total dick, so he might be skittish around Russian guys in tracksuits. And he got hit by a car a couple weeks back. He’ll need a check-up next week, but he’s actually totally healthy.”

“Okay.”

“And he loves pizza.” Lucky’s ears perked up and his tongue made a quick appearance, and Clint pointed at him. “See? He seriously loves it. He’ll steal it from you every chance he gets.”

Coulson laughed and stood up. “Anything else?”

“No.” Clint knew what came next. He was supposed to hand over the dog. He had to. His ride was on its way, and Coulson seemed like a nice guy. He was waiting patiently, just standing there, with a small, understanding smile. He made no move to take the leash, and Clint made no move to give it to him. “Well. Sometimes I call him Pizza Dog.”

“Mr. Barton, are you sure you want to give him up?”

“I have to. I . . . I have to.” 

“I understand. I promise I’ll take good care of him.”

Clint looked at Lucky, who looked back up at him, probably still waiting for pizza. “He saved my life.”

“Maybe we should exchange contact information,” Coulson offered, his expression even softer now. “And when you’re in town, you can see him anytime you want.”

“No. I mean, thanks, and all, but I don’t want to confuse him. He should be your dog.”

“I think he’s very clearly yours,” Coulson argued as Lucky licked Clint’s hand. “I’m sure he’d love for you to visit.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” Coulson offered his phone to Clint, already open to the screen for a new contact. “And I think perhaps I wouldn’t mind either.”

“I thought you said you weren’t any good at picking up guys,” Clint said, but he took the phone and entered his information. First Name: _Clint_. Last Name: _Barton_. Company: _Lucky’s Other Human_. He quickly typed in his phone number and email, hearing the telltale sound of his pickup arriving. “That was pretty smooth.”

“Sometimes the opportunity just falls in your lap,” Coulson said dryly. He took back his phone and hit the call button, and Clint’s phone broke out into Pat Benatar. Coulson smirked and opened his mouth, but didn’t get the chance to say anything as a flying projectile came straight for them. Coulson grabbed Clint’s arm and pulled him towards shelter, but Clint just shook his head and turned to face the newcomer, who had landed with a metallic clang.

“Sorry, Legolas. Timetable got moved up. We need to go.”

“Yeah.” Clint kissed Lucky’s head, shoved the leash at Coulson, and stepped onto Tony’s foot, wrapping one arm around the armored shoulders. “Call you when I get back,” he said, smiling at the gob-smacked expression Coulson was hiding underneath a false mask of calm.

“Yeah.” Coulson cleared his throat as Tony’s repulsors fired up. “You do that.”

Clint sketched a two-fingered salute as they hit the air, the sudden momentum forcing his arm down quickly. 

“Stop grinning.” Tony ordered. “It’s disconcerting. Besides, that guy hardly looks like your usual type. More like a tax accountant than a badass.”

“He’s just taking care of my dog, Tony.”

“Uh-huh. Right.”

 _Yeah_ , Clint thought, still grinning. _Right_.

 

 

 

—end—


End file.
